


Spring Prompts 2017

by tainry



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multi, little bits of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-10-01 00:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10175801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainry/pseuds/tainry
Summary: Next set of seasonal ficlets based on Playswithworms' Project: Reset 'verse! Not canon for said 'verse! But compliant as much as  possible! <3





	1. Flowers/Blossoming

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Project Reset: The Prequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071183) by [playswithworms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/playswithworms/pseuds/playswithworms). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squiggles learns about flowers! Fulcrum is not helping. Barricade makes a strategic retreat.

Snow went away, came back, went away again. _Melted,_ Bear said. Snow was water, and it melted and went into the ground. Which meant _muddy_ , and that was fun. Then green things appeared, growing up from the ground, and there were little bumps all over the branches of some of the trees. Squiggles remembered this vaguely from before, in the barn.

After a quick glance to make sure he knew where First Aid and Bear were – adults didn’t move around much, though he’d seen them move very fast when they wanted to – he ambled toward the line of trees on the edge of the field. Their tall, bare shapes were interesting, and had the virtue of currently being unoccupied by any of his brothers. (Unbeknownst to Squiggles, he was being closely watched. Thundercracker, being keen-opticked and quite tall, had him firmly in lock.) 

The long trundle across the field was worth it, Squiggles saw immediately. The green growing things were different under the trees! Much more wide-leaf things, of several different kinds, and mushrooms, and big sticks, and fallen leaves from before the snow, and new things, held on very thin, bouncy, green sticks – or wires – a little above the leaves; clusters of pretty, blue fluttery things. Bright blue, like First Aid’s optics, sort of. Squiggles tugged at a wire-stick with a bunch of bright-pretty things on it until it broke. He held the bright-pretty things up to his optics. The blue things were a bit like cups, only inside were tiny white wire things with blobby ends, and sort of a tube at the bottom where they attached to the little green wire-sticks. Amazing! (This had been Gasket’s favorite word yesterday.) He should show First Aid and Bear!

He scampered back to First Aid, talons tightly closed to protect the bright-pretty, bounding through the grass, stumbling over a tussock of wide-leaf green stuff, barreling on again. First Aid saw him and smiled, curling a hand around him as he climbed three-limbed to First Aid’s chest. 

“Here!” Squiggles chirped. “Pretty! For you!” He opened his talons where the bright-pretty was kept safe. But in his little hand was a pulpy, tattered mess, only a few wisps left of the colors that were so nice. Squiggles twibbled unhappily. What happened? He’d been so careful, carrying it so far across the field…

“Virginia bluebells! Goodness, they’re a bit early this year,” First Aid said warmly. “Thank you, Squiggles, that’s so thoughtful.”

“It smushed,” Squiggles whimpered. “I smushed it,” he realized, and began to wail.

“Oh, dearspark, I’m afraid so,” First Aid said. “Flowers are very delicate here on Earth. Hush, hush, little beep, I know you didn’t mean to! Shall I come show you how to handle them so you don’t smush them?”

“Y-yes, plheez,” Squiggles hiccoughed, cleanser fluid still leaking from the corners of his optics. 

“All right,” First Aid said. “Ah! I think I see some bloodroot over here!” They wandered over to a shady bit of garden around the _Retribution_ ’s skirts, and First Aid knelt down. “See? Aren’t they neat little flowers? They only bloom for a few days so we’re lucky to see them!” Noggin and Fulcrum had joined them and listened attentively. Squiggles got down and peered at the white flowers with yellow bits in the middle, and the unfurled leaves that clasped the single wire-stick – _stem_ , First Aid supplied – of each plant. 

Reaching slowly, he placed two talons around the stem. It sliced so easily! 

“Good,” First Aid said. “Hold it just like that, by the stem only, okay? See? Yes, you can touch the petals, too, very, very softly.” Noggin and Fulcrum each gave picking a single flower a try, too. There was some fumbling at the tiny stems at first, but they were all trying very hard. 

“You can also look at them without picking,” First Aid said encouragingly. “The plants need their flowers in order to make more plants. Then you can send the image to someone, just like glyphs, remember?”

Fulcrum seemed to be mulling this over deeply. “So…flowers are plant-Primes?”

“Um…sort of?” First Aid said. “Sure! In a way.” He looked up at Barricade, a merry gleam in his optics. 

_Leave me out of that,_ Barricade sent via tight beam. 

Squiggles’ optics grew round. “I…smushed a plant-Prime!” he whispered, and began to wail again. First Aid scooped him up and cuddled him close.

“Oh, sweetspark, more flowers will grow. And…and they’re not exactly Primes in themselves…more like the generative threads inside a Prime’s—”

“I’m out,” said Barricade, beating a hasty retreat.


	2. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's raining, it's pouring, the hatchlings are panicking...

It seemed like an ordinary afternoon, out playing in the field and puddles, and Ducky submerged in the pond. Starshine glanced up at the gathering clouds, then went back, unconcerned, to climbing the side of the dodecahedron and jumping off. Might rain, he supposed. Those kind of clouds often meant it would. He saw Silverbolt and Trajectory looking up, too, then going back to what they were doing. 

After a while, it did rain, but it wasn’t very cold, so Starshine was determined to stay out – where he could see the sky – for as long as the adults would let him. He wasn’t prepared for the bedlam that erupted as the first fat droplets pattered down. 

_Skreeling!_ Panic! Starscream shouted things, incoherent but imperative! Elita grabbed Skids and hauled him to safety, followed closely by Arcee with Jolt, Chromia with Blackout and Mudflap – one under each arm, and Ironhide cradling Jazz. Soundwave was clumped with all five of his ex/future symbionts, hauling them bodily even though they were currently all the same size, tumbling toward safety. Soon the thirty-one were huddled shivering in the doorway of the _Retribution_ , entreating the second instar Horde to come in, too, meeping and keening in distress. 

Starshine gaped, uncomprehending. Ducky stuck his head out of the pond, blinking in confusion. The adults were trying to gather up and soothe the panicked first instars, but were heavily outnumbered. Annabelle ran out to the end of the ramp where they could all see her.

“It’s just water,” she said, cupping her hands and holding them out. She had not said “rain” because she knew that rain on their home planet had been acid and hurt them. Rain was something people could be afraid of. She wanted to show them that this rain wouldn’t hurt them. When enough had gathered in her palms, she bent her head and sipped the cool, clean liquid. Different from the well water back home, but good. 

The first instars moaned and shuddered. The humans drink acid!!! What are they _made_ of?!?!!!

“Poor little bits,” Beachcomber said, cuddling Brawl, Knock Out and Beachbreak. Hoist went into the kitchenette and brought out a small ramekin. (For Cybertronian values of small.) This he held out in the rain for a while – it was turning into quite the downpour, and even some of Barricade’s Horde were considering getting under cover until it passed. Holding the filled ramekin in plain sight, Hoist brought it to the hatchlings, kneeling to set it on the deckplates. 

“Listen to Annabelle,” Hoist said gently, dabbling his fingers in the water, splashing a little. “It’s just water. See? No shields.” He held up his hand, waggling miraculously intact fingers. 

Ironhide and Starscream came forward, jostling each other somewhat. Shoulder to shoulder they crept down the ramp, flinching at each drop plinking on their thin plating, but gamely enduring it. (Even Ironhide’s hatchling plating was measurably thicker than most. His name had been fitting from the beginning.) After a few moments, some of the other first instars joined them. 

Starscream blinked and glared up at the clouds, cheeping crankily. He’d known it all along! Water! Ha! Slagging inconvenient stuff, getting between him and a nice sunny day, above the clouds. 

Barricade snorted through his vents. “Great. Now we’ll never get them inside.”


	3. Planting Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ducky learns about plants. Ultra Magnus remembers things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point Galvatron's 31 have hatched, but fairly recently. Barricade's Horde are still second instar.

“You can scatter…or just poke them in one at a time, yes. That is also good.” First Aid smiled behind his mask. Ducky sat on his lap, planting seeds in the little flats Phyllis had prepared for them. When all the Jack-in-the-pulpit seeds in the tiny paper packet had been nestled into the soil, Ducky tucked his talons under his chin and sat back, waiting.

Nothing happened. He looked up at First Aid. “When will it start?”

“Oh, dearest,” First Aid said, “it takes time. Just like you! Think of Galvatron’s clutch. You and your brothers used to be that small, and it took you six years to grow big enough for your first molt. Remember yesterday when you tried to put your old snowsuit on and it was too small? Growing doesn’t happen all at once.” 

“When Bear found us,” Ducky said, mulling this over, “two or three could fit in one hand.”

“Exactly. Now you’re almost too big for one hand by yourself.”

“Except Bravespa…I mean Silverbolt.”

Ultra Magnus joined them, clambering up onto First Aid’s knee. “We were smaller than that, before.” His little optic shutters furrowed. “Air Commander Starscream made us sleepy. Then he put us in a…not a box, but like a box…”

“A transport pod?” First Aid asked softly, not wanting to interrupt Ultra Magnus’ train of thought.

“Yes. When we woke up it was bright and hot and Megatron was there. He…scared the elephants.”

“You remember Namibia! Oh, Ultra Magnus, I’m glad! It’s a beautiful place.”

Ultra Magnus nodded. “I remember before that, too. But I don’t like to.” His optics went wide and awash in cleaning fluid. First Aid pulled him close and cuddled him, rocking both him and Ducky gently.

“Brave ones, dear ones,” he hummed. “You are safe now. You are so loved.”

“We know,” said Ducky, squirming. “My flat is tipping.”

First Aid laughed, a little staticky. “Ultra Magnus, would you like a flat to plant, too? We have one more packet of Arisaema dracontium seeds.”

“Yes, please!”


	4. Emerging From Hibernation/Spring Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl and TC take a nap. Certain hatchlings are Not Amused.  
> OMG THERE'S HAND-HOLDING!!! HOW VERY DARE!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galvatron's clutch is fourth instar at this point.

Unmaker above, the sun felt good on his wings. The first and second instar hatchlings were taking naps, and the fourth instars were all busy doing their study projects and things, so Thundercracker had an hour or three to indulge himself. After a bleak, cold couple of months, the weather had turned suddenly to clear, warm days and brisk, starry nights. He felt like he had stuck his head out of the _Retribution_ to find that a hundred years had passed, rather than a few weeks. Not that _all_ the seasons on this planet weren’t weird, but he’d only experienced two hundred-some-odd years of them – hardly enough time to get used to it. 

Flat on his ventral hull, he stretched everything in all directions, until his joints creaked and his armor pinged. So warm. Everything moving smoothly, down to his protoform. Struts flexible and strong. He pulsed a little extra energy to his color nanites, just because he hadn’t in so long he was lucky he remembered what his original colors were.

He turned his head just enough to admire the deep, glowing, reflective blue on his forearm armor. #0677E3 didn’t do the hue justice, and human nomenclature was bound inextricably with their ecosystems and cultures. Flowers, food, and rocks. Beachcomber’s venue, not his. 

He was about to drift off into recharge when he heard someone climbing up onto the old shuttle’s hull. Thundercracker told himself he didn’t need to online an optic. The gait and fields told him who it was. He did online an optic, though, as Prowl laid himself down helm-to-helm with him. Watching the graceful Praxian was always worthwhile. Mmm. Prowl entwined the fingers of one hand with his, and Thundercracker felt it to his struts – energy zinging directly into his spark, flashing warm across his plating. He squeezed back, listening to both their engines spin up then settle. Recharge crept over them both. 

…

They awoke aware of other presences. Smallish, watching them intently. Starscream, Skywarp, Jazz. And Streetwise, thank Primus. An arbiter, in case they needed one. His and Prowl’s fingers were still interlaced. Jazz and Starscream were side-eyeing each other hard, and Skywarp was looking back and forth between the two, clearly not happy about the impending fallout, whatever it was going to be. Thundercracker and Prowl sat up, neither moving closer nor scooting farther apart, though Thundercracker was prepared to chuck a rock at Prowl, who was past master at shutting down and withdrawing from emotionally charged difficulties. Prowl saw the twitch of Thundercracker’s hand and recalculated rapidly. 

“How _could_ you?” Starscream hissed, his helm plating clamped down tightly, his winglets flicking high in outrage. “An Autobot? Worse, a _grounder_?”

“War’s over,” Thundercracker said, not saying everything else that came immediately to mind because he knew anything he said now could be used against him later. “And I’m surprised you’re still objecting based on alt modes, given the talking-to you were given about that.” Starscream had persisted in making disparaging remarks about Knock Out until First Aid – _First Aid_ – had had enough of that nonsense. 

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?” Jazz said, extravagantly mopey, from Streetwise’s lap, while Starscream sputtered.

Prowl lofted an optic ridge. He and Jazz had never been exclusive, though Jazz had enjoyed other friendships and partners far more than Prowl had. “I am waiting for you.”

“Just a pacifier, then, eh, TC?” Jazz sniped, unable to stop the words. He felt awful. Overheated and cold at the same time, and like the fuel had turned solid in his tank. He didn’t understand why he felt this way, why he was saying and thinking these things. In his spark he _knew_ better, he understood. But his body and mind seemed to have other ideas. 

“What are you worried about?” Thundercracker could say that he knew Prowl’s spark and had no reservations on that score, but that wouldn’t help. “He still loves you, Jazz.” 

“I suppose you think you love him!” Starscream huffed at Thundercracker. He realized his mistake the moment the last word left his vocalizer. Thundercracker and Prowl turned to each other, optics soft and bright, their wings/doors lofted forward, fields flaring and entwining. Streetwise curled his hands up near his mouth, making a high, very faint ‘eee’ sound.

“Well, if you don’t like Seekers any more then you can just forget about _us_.” It didn’t help that Starscream was going through a physically awkward stage. Even less help was that Silverbolt wasn’t. Silverbolt never had an awkward stage. It wasn’t fair! 

Thundercracker hid a smile. Any hurdle seemed like it was forever when you were only 252 years old. “That’s up to you and Warp. You don’t have to choose the same this time. You can, but you don’t have to.”

“Do overs,” Jazz said thoughtfully. “Any way we want, knowing what we know now.” He looked pointedly at Starscream. “An’ we don’t have to pretend we didn’t learn anything from our lives before.”

“ _Groundhog Day_ ,” Skywarp murmured. Streetwise snerked.

“Multiple repetitions would be less than optimal,” Prowl said, rather pained. Jazz bounced out of Streetwise’s lap and flung himself into Prowl’s arms, burying his helm in the space between Prowl’s neck and shoulder.

 _Am I going to have to climb up there and show you holograms of what will happen if you try to spark-share before you’re fully mature?_ Ratchet sent from the main base medbay. Apprised by Streetwise, Thundercracker suspected. 

“Gah!” said Jazz.

“No!” shrieked Starscream and Skywarp together. 

_Good._ Ratchet huffed, shaking his head. In reality, most frames would be all right after fifth instar, physically. Emotional maturity was an entirely other matter. There was a lot of variability in frametypes as well, and with Jazz there should be no chances taken. It wasn’t fair, so it was best to establish a hard no until seventh instar. 

“Optimus is on his way home,” Prowl said, “should you wish for his expert hugs. Are you going to be okay?”

“No,” Jazz said. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know! What’s wrong with me?!”

“Nothing, Jazz. Nothing. We’re treading new ground is all.”

“Yeah, but that just means you don’t _know_ nothing’s wrong.”

“How optimistic. Sounds like you definitely need Optimus hugs.”

“Well, sure, but…” Jazz sighed, pressing his face again into Prowl’s shoulder. 

“You’ve learned such patience already,” Prowl murmured, squeezing him a little. “Just a few tens of vorns more.”

“Hugs?” Starscream sneered, who had loved Optimus hugs until _very_ recently. “From the great Optimus Prime? The Great Fool? I think not.”

“Shall we call Galvatron back?” Thundercracker offered, arms open.

“No!” Starscream stayed where he was, but Skywarp scooted into the offered lap and made himself comfortable.

“How about you?” Thundercracker asked, resting his chin on Skywarp’s helm. For his entire first two instars, Skywarp was an adorable snuggle-bug, with only a hint now and then of mischief about him, and none of the cruelty he had cultivated during the war. By third and, now, fourth instar, there were occasional moments where the set of his grin might change, his mandibles curl, but then he would pause, pressing his mouthparts together in a thin line, and then relax, deliberately choosing to not make First Aid sad.

“I’m all for hugs,” Skywarp said, wriggling as Thundercracker crossed his arms over his currently narrow-chested frame. 

“Traitor,” Starscream sniffed. Skywarp made a rude gesture, which Starscream returned, with interest. Before this could escalate, Streetwise leaned over and bumped shoulders with Starscream, doing his best “First Aid’s Hopeful Optics” impression, which was comically bad. But the message, which he had received more than once, was _Starscream, dearspark, please use your powers for good. We love you, we value you. You need not fear for your position in our sparks._ Starscream revved his engine to a high whine for a few seconds, just to thoroughly register his pique. This wasn’t over, oh no, not by half. But he and Skywarp, slag it all to the Pit, had a lot of growing to do yet, and he knew it. There would be time later to pry Thundercracker out of the clutches of that dreadful Prowl. If they still wanted him as their third by the time they reached their majority. Maybe they’d pick someone else! So there!

“This wasn’t the reunion I hoped for,” Jazz whispered, “all those vorns we were separated, looking for the Allspark.”

“I know, but this is far preferable to…to what I found when I came to Earth.”

“Aaagh, Prowl, I’m sorry!”

“Hush. All is well.” Prowl rested his cheek spar against the top of Jazz’s helm. “ _That_ was not your intention either, I am quite sure.”

“Nooo, not hardly.” Jazz tried not to squirm. Talk about another conversation he didn’t want to have. His memories of the end of the battle, and…the things that happened after, were muddled anyway. Not like he could give Prowl a rousing narration of his own death, even if he wanted to. Which he really, really, really didn’t. When was Optimus going to get here? 

A short time later.

“Optimus!” Starscream shrieked. “Thundercracker and Prowl were _holding hands_!!!”

“I see,” Prime said gravely, kneeling to bring himself to a height with the youngster. 

“Yes! And they didn’t even have the decency to deny it!” Starscream climbed into the lap that manifested at his demand. He glared at the others, daring them to protest him taking his rightful place as the first to receive hugs from Optimus – though the Prime’s field embraced them all warmly. 

“Ah. Galvatron and I had hoped they would be…less circumspect in their affection. It sets a good example.” Prowl and Thundercracker squirmed somewhat. “But I suppose they were concerned about your feelings, and Skywarp’s and Jazz’s, on the matter.”

“You…but…”

“Though perhaps had they been more open all along, you would not be surprised now?”

“That’s not the point!”

Optimus stroked Starscream’s back gently, and sighed. “They have both been wounded. Is it so strange that they might find some measure of healing in each other?” 

“I _know_ , but…no. Yes! Rrrgh! It’s not fair!”

“Perhaps not, but this fate was your choice. It is up to you to make the best of it.”

“Oh, don’t remind me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect Starscream at this stage employs a lot of italics, and ellipses, and capslock. And enjoys reading the diaries of 18th century teenaged girls. <3 ( _19th_ century teenaged girls' diaries are I think more Dirge's thing.)


	5. Nesting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Aid's first clutch! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ✧

“You said you intended only to spawn one,” Ratchet said, with fair equanimity, he felt, given the circumstances. “For your first clutch.”

“I did mean to,” First Aid said. Calm over a deeper layer of controlled alarm. He _had_ meant there to be only one, he had! Because Ultra Magnus watched so closely, so intensely interested, First Aid wanted to set the best example a flawed mechanism could. But Sol’s light had been so warm, so good, and a part of his spark he thought had been gently closed forever had opened…and there they were. 

“Three I would have understood, in your exuberance. Five, if you simply could not control yourself. But _seven_?”

“C’mon, Ratch,” Wheeljack said, “at least it’s not thirty-one. Or fifty-seven.”

“Don’t put numbers in his head.”

“And, unlike Optimus, he actually told you before he did anything.”

“Yes, ‘Jack. And thank you for that.” Ratchet nodded at his apprentice, though he wasn’t sure he’d been much reassured by the warning. Gave him more time to fret was all it had done. 

Elita peered at them through the viewscreen from where she was attending an African Union meeting in Rwanda. “So internal growth for two years, and then they’re spawned into incubation pods,” she said briskly, quite familiar with the stages from pod onward. “Got it. Anything else, Ratchet?”

“Give or take a few weeks,” Ratchet said. Biology wasn’t a hard and fast by the numbers sort of thing. “And the Prime may or may not have insight on numbers before then. All Optimus could tell at this stage, his first time, was ‘many.’”

“All right,” Elita said. “I should be back in another two weeks. See you then.” She cut the transmission. First Aid and Ratchet exchanged a lopsided grin. Elita absorbed her lessons dutifully, but she was not particularly interested in spawning. Ultra Magnus, on the other hand, could hardly be pried from First Aid’s side – a quiet but massive presence. 

…

 _Perceptor?_ Wheeljack’s com was uncharacteristically reserved. _Can you come down to the medlab for a minute, and tell me if I’m crazy?_

Perceptor completed the sequence on the test he was running, sending Wheeljack a “hold” reply glyph, then reopened the channel properly. _I thought you enjoyed being crazy._

 _Yes, but. I just…I just…_ The channel faded. Not shut down, but as though Wheeljack’s mind had withdrawn to go wandering through empty rooms or stare out a window at nothing.

Perceptor took off for the medbay at a flat sprint. 

“Wheeljack?”

First Aid was sitting on a repair berth, and the revenant engineer stood before him, holding his hands. They both turned as Perceptor came in, skidding to reduce his speed. “What did you wish me to…?”

“Scan the sparkwaves,” Wheeljack said, wriggling his fingers at First Aid’s chest, his vocal indicators and optics bright. First Aid sat motionless, softly glowing. Perceptor cocked his head at them, but approached, warming up his most delicate and puissant receptors. 

“How are you, dear one?” Perceptor asked softly, wrapping gentle eidion waves around and through First Aid’s chest. 

“Oh, Perceptor! I’m…good.” First Aid made helplessly happy motions with his hands.

Seven sparks, growing well already, joyfully spinning around the prime-spark, each with a unique signature. A unique signature. Perceptor opened a file he had not touched in more than 15,000 years. He scanned again. And a third time. Repeatable results. Slowly, gently, he embraced First Aid, wrapping his arms around the young Prime, pressing his cheek spar against First Aid’s. 

And then he left the medbay to compose himself.

 _Percy?_ Wheeljack called, from where he was sitting rather giddily on the floor. _Does that mean yes, they are who I think they are?_ Six of them anyway. The seventh was new.

 _Yes!_ Perceptor replied, emotion leaking around the edges of the simple glyph. _Yes!_

…

Soon there was something of a stampede aimed at First Aid, who vacated the medbay to spare Ratchet’s nerves. Outside, to the spring air in the base garden, where it had rained that morning and everything still glittered with rainbow dewdrops and the breeze was soft and warm in the morning light. 

They had timed the sending of the news so that those principally affected would not be in awkward positions – like Optimus addressing the Earth Council, or Blades in mid-air with a heavy load of logs. Surrounded by his brothers, a second line of defense consisting of Barricade and the Lambo twins, and bolstered by four second instar hatchlings clinging to his chestplates, First Aid bore up under the attention as best he could. The “why” answers were fairly obvious, but the “how” was harder, since First Aid really wasn’t sure himself. People gave up asking him and pestered Perceptor instead, but he had no definitive explanation and refused to publicly speculate until and unless he had more data.

“We are going to spoil this clutch rotten,” Mirage said, brushing his field through Starscream’s in a way the latter found he did not mind at all. 

“Yes we are,” Starscream agreed, rubbing his hands together. Babies! First Aid babies! Optimus’ current batch of second instars were delicious, certainly, and running all the caretakers ragged as usual. But first instars, oh! First instars were such wondrous little balls of delight! So perfect, so fragile, requiring impressively delicate handling, which he, of course, was masterful at. Ah, their tiny optics glowing up at him, their little talons tickling as they climbed to nestle beneath his chin. In only five years he would get to use his feeding nozzles again! 

He was not insensitive to the other facets of this event. He would be…many of them would be able to make amends for past failures. Certain events would _not_ be repeated. He swore his spark to it.

“Oh,” said Mirage softly, a not unwelcome intrusion into Starscream’s thoughts. “Oh, Prime.”

“Spark of my spark.” Optimus knelt, trembling. He did not deserve this miracle, but First Aid did. First Aid gave a little cry and flung himself into Optimus’ arms. 

…

18 months later. 

“Is this what you were looking for?” Optimus tipped the huge bale of mesh down off his shoulder. It was the stuff the Cybertronians made cushions and couches and things out of; carbon fiber meta-formed with a few other things, strong and flexible enough to act in the way fabric did for humans. And you could program it to be any color desired! 

First Aid jumped up, almost lost his balance, and caught himself on the bale of mesh, hugging it happily. “Yes! I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of this…”

“Hmm,” said Optimus. He subjected First Aid to an all-too-knowing wink. “Well. There you go. You and Hoist should be able to make all the pillows you, ahem, I mean _anyone_ could need.” 

“Thank you,” First Aid said. 

A frenzy of sewing ensued. The various mesh shapes were stuffed with truckloads of puffed cellulose noodles, and programmed to match the Librariobots’ colors: blues, silver, black, deep iridescent orange, all trimmed with softly glowing turquoise. First Aid was beginning to have trouble recharging, (sheer excitement rather than physical difficulty, at this stage) so he might as well keep busy. The pillows were needed for the napping area anyway, and would help First Aid at least rest upright if he couldn’t recharge. 

There were no end of volunteers to be his “pillows” but the young Prime was so restless he knew he was preventing said volunteers from getting any rest themselves, and that Would Not Do. 

…

Sometimes the past two years had felt like a small eternity. Now, though, First Aid wished he could have just a little more time with things the way they were. Dear presences within, always with him. Now came the little parting, when they would begin their lives outside in the world. Well. They had three years in their pods to come, but their pods would be outside him, so that counted. 

He knelt where Galvatron had knelt, where Optimus had. The glial nets were prepared. His protocols were ticking along perfectly despite Ratchet’s worries. The old scar had almost faded completely. The nascent openings, lacunae, in his backplates – only three, for this was a small clutch – ached, hot and close to opening. 

The chamber was fair to brimming with helpers and witnesses. His brothers of course, Barricade (to everyone’s surprise including his own), the science team still involved because after a dozen spawnings this was still decidedly not old hat, Lord Protector Galvatron and Optimus, and all the other young primes. The air hummed with energy and the soft purr of engines, fields meshing and pulsing with quiet joy and encouragement. 

First Aid curled forward around himself, internal struts rearranging themselves, and his brothers withdrew slightly. Everyone withdrew but Wheeljack, Ratchet and Perceptor, the three midwives, who each would stand ready at one of the three lacunae. Maiden, mother and crone, Yvgenne had said, a dear human friend these last twenty years; meaning Wheeljack, Perceptor and Ratchet, respectively, but First Aid wasn’t altogether certain Ratchet was older than Perceptor. If they were old enough, they might not remember either. Wandering thoughts, but only at the surface hyper-thread. Beneath the wittering he was focused on the proceedings, reassuring the little ones that all was well, and making sure their passage to the outside was free of impediments. 

Tighter he curled, and tighter, the heat spreading throughout his frame – his vents roared with it – until there was no space left in him that was not the pockets surrounding new life a-boil to rise upward and out. He felt the pop-pop-pop of his channels unsealing, air cold going down into him, and his body clenched tighter yet, stronger than he had known he could be, to push the small spheres of spark and sentio metallico farther and farther from his own spark. He made a low sound, missing them already. His little planets, worlds within worlds. 

The pressures inside him shifted, rising, rising, and there went the first – pop! – out into the air, turning from bright to steely blue and expanding into an ovoid form as Ratchet lifted it free. First Aid gusted through his vents at the release. The next one followed after a few moments, then the next, and the next, faster once things got going – the last three all at once with Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor scrambling to catch them and get the pods secured into the glial mesh. 

“Oh, well spawned, First Aid, well spawned!” Wheeljack said, as First Aid uncoiled and vented hard on hands and knees for a moment, lacunae steaming, still glowing hot in their depths. 

“All seven properly seated and responding to the energy feeds,” Perceptor called. Barricade put his hands down and hoped no-one had noticed. 

First Aid got shakily to his feet, taking Hot Spot’s and Blades’ hands as they came forward to help him. He tried to head for the little cluster of pods in their mesh, but Hot Spot steered him firmly toward the quenching bath instead. “Let’s get you cooled down, first!”

Billows of steam rose up as First Aid settled into the vat of cold water – though he peered around Blades at the little cluster of blue pods on the far wall. It felt marvelous! More cold water circulated through the vat as he heated what was there, until at last his lacunae cooled and closed, beginning to seal, though that would take a few more hours to complete properly. Ratchet checked him over. 

“All right, there you go,” Ratchet said fondly, patting First Aid’s shoulder. 

Hot Spot helped him clamber out of the bath and totter over to the pods. Barricade and his brothers joined him, looking on with wonder as he touched each one, feeling the spark-pulses. Six echoes of those lost so long ago, one entirely and delightfully new. 

…

Three years later.

There they were again; Wheeljack, Perceptor, Hoist, Elita, Evac, Beachcomber, Camshaft, Signal Flare, Arcee, Smokescreen; as many of the old team as had survived, or…whatever. Joined this time by Ratchet, First Aid and his brothers, Barricade, Quig, Dion and the Aunties, Knock Out, and – quiet thankfulness – Optimus Prime and his Lord Protector. As they should be. No-one minded; the chamber had been built with larger clutches in mind (looking at you, Galvatron). 

“Here we go,” Hoist said. “Membrane breach!” A single talon poked through, flexing a little as the hatchling rested between bouts of struggling. Hoist compared the old data, and, yes, things were proceeding faster this time. These hatchlings knew what they were about!

Wheeljack was ready, hands beneath the pod, strongly in the grip of memory. They were aboveground this time, though, on an entirely different planet, and Optimus was here, and it was all different. So much had happened, but Wheeljack felt those intervening vorns as a hazy dream. _Now_ was the important thing, unshakably familiar, but running on its own road. A second chance, not in desperation, not in war. Sunlight and starlight just beyond a single ceiling. The camaraderie was there, tenfold, and they had a much better idea what they were doing, though none of them yet would claim to be experts.

So small, the little talon waving at them, reaching; the tear in the membrane lengthening by milispans, until – whoopsie-daisy! “Hatchling hatching number one complete!” crowed Hoist, jubilant. 

Wheeljack sat down, curled around the hatchling, heedless of pod fluid dripping down his plating. “There you are. There’s my wee Cookie.” Cookie beeped and whirred at him, butting his little helm into Wheeljack’s mandible, before blinking down into recharge. Wheeljack’s ventilations caught. First Aid crouched beside them, his own vents unsteady, and Wheeljack turned so that First Aid could stroke the tiny back with a fingertip. Blinking, Wheeljack considered, and then moved to offer Cookie to his…brother/momdad, and oh this was going to muddle the already complicated genealogies of their species. Where they even had genealogies. First Aid squinched his optics at him. 

“It’s all right,” First Aid said. “He’s perfectly fine with you. I had him for two years all to myself, you know.”

Perceptor had his hands under the next struggling pod. He had been uncharacteristically silent, and neutral of expression all cycle. Vigilant. Elita stood next to him, an arm snugged around his waist. His body trembled faintly. The hatchling pressed his helm against the pod wall, resting for a moment, but Perceptor kept his hands where they were; good hands, strong and fine, capable of such delicate work. Ready. One talon, then two breached the membrane. Perceptor’s optics were shining. A little rest, a little struggle, a spindly arm pushed through, and like a tiny falling star, the hatchling was caught in Perceptor’s hands.

“There you are, little Caliber,” Perceptor cooed, as Elita laughed softly and squeezed him. “There you are, safe and sound, yes. Our dear little meteorite!” Caliber wriggled, optics wide and bright, and buzzed up at them.

Hours passed in the outside world, unheeded by those inside. Weeping silently, Starscream cradled Zap against his cheekplate. He swayed slowly toward the warmer, drying the chirring hatchling as he went, making promises from his spark. He’d been too late, before, long ago. He would never make that mistake again. Thundercracker and Skywarp met him at the warmer, put arms around his waist. There was no rush to nestle Zap in with his brothers, really. 

They wouldn’t have to stand there waiting to catch the hatchlings if they’d put the pods lower down, or on top of a cushioned platform or something, Arcee thought, her arms stretched up, hands cupped. But she supposed the main idea was that they should never need to hatch without attendants, alone. Jazz bounced up and down beside her, though he could see perfectly well from where he was. 

“No jostling,” Arcee said. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They watched in silence as Isotope took to kicking at his pod membrane. Jazz with a high-wattage grin plastered across his face, Arcee awash in old memories. Kick-kick-kick – and one pede went through! Arcee caught the slippery little bundle as Jazz laughed.

“What, no book on hatching order this time?” Camshaft teased Smokescreen.

“Not when we already know the likely outcome,” Smokey sighed. 

“Isn’t that what the humans used to do?” Knock Out commented. “Before they started using incubators, I mean. Knock Out had considered humans drab and unappealingly homogeneous, eight thousand years ago. They’d improved considerably since then, even if a lot of them insisted upon being unfortunately squishy. 

“Not so much hatching order as actual birth date,” Camshaft said. “But I guess it’s sort of the same thing.”

“Pay attention,” Smokey murmured. The talon sticking through the pod membrane turned into an arm. Optics very wide, Knock Out caught him as he slipped free. They stared at each other, fascinated, as Camshaft draped a drying cloth over Knock Out’s wrist. Knock Out hardly noticed. 

“Welcome back, Bridger,” Smokey said, grinning over Knock Out’s spaulder. 

Hoist and his confectionery apprentice, Heavyarms, nee Bonecrusher, cuddled Sparkles. 

“No matter how often I’ve seen it,” Heavyarms whispered, “it’s always such a surprise how tiny newly hatched ones are. Look at how perfect his little talons are!”

“I know!” Hoist agreed. There was a pause, whilst the recharging hatchling was further admired. 

“…I suppose eventually we’re going to have to put him on the warmer,” Heavyarms said.

“Yes,” Hoist sighed. “Eventually.” No one else was hurrying to put them down either, Hoist noted. No rush. And there was, after all, one more pod to go. 

“Some take longer than others,” First Aid reassured Barricade. “It’s perfectly normal.” He smiled as Barricade cupped a hand against the pod. 

Warm and resilient, Barricade noted, a little surprised. Not slimy at all! The hatchling inside moved, and Barricade snatched his hand back. 

“You won’t hurt her,” First Aid said. 

“I know.”

Together, they watched the pod. The other Protectobots gathered close, their bond overflowing though they all stood quietly, too happy to speak. There came a glow within; the hatchling lighting her optics. She stretched, pushed, began to claw at the membrane; and as she at last slipped free into Barricade’s hands, he felt – just for a nanoclick – a twinge of regret that he had not made a spark contribution. He held her, proud of himself, while First Aid dried her off. She blinked and whirred up at them cheerily, optics green as a spring day.

“What shall we call you, hm?” First Aid wondered, as Barricade passed her to him. Her thin plating had a faintly greenish cast, seen only at certain angles as First Aid turned her gently in his hand, scanning. “How about Clover?” Barricade hastily nodded. There were far worse hatchling names. 

Optimus stood just outside the main circle of activity, hands behind his back, fields wafting outward, blissfully happy. Galvatron rested his mandibles on the top of his brother’s helm.

“You could join them.” Not quiet enough that he was unheard. Thundercracker left Starscream under Skywarp’s enthusiastic care and sauntered over.

“I shall have plenty of chances to cuddle them,” Optimus said. 

“Uh huh,” Thundercracker said, trading smirks with his Lord Protector. Cuddle. Sure. Optimus would be wearing these hatchlings for the next thousand years. The only one who stood even a remote chance of prying them loose was First Aid, and knowing him, the kid would just let Optimus keep them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spawning method I've employed here I cribbed from one of my own AoE fixit-fics, which Playswithworms approved of for use in this 'verse. ;D
> 
> So that's Spring done! On to Summer!


End file.
